


Dreams, Dreams, Dreams

by greenJeanKirstein



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Joseph Kavinsky is just like he always is I mean in chapter 1 at least, M/M, Men Crying, Minor Character Death, Ronan Lynch has emotions, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenJeanKirstein/pseuds/greenJeanKirstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is dead and Ronan knows it. Nothing can stop his dreams from dragging Joseph Kavinsky back into his thoughts though. So he watches as Kavinsky dies and wakes up knowing he still mourns Kavinsky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

Ronan was walking on the edge between death and life. He was like a pair of scales, dipping towards one side and then leaning towards the other, as if weighing his options. For a second his dreams reflected the duality of life. On one side the sky was blue with little clouds floating with the wind, and the flowers bloomed on the grassy pasture. On the other side there simply was nothing. The sky was cloudy, the land barren and dark.

 

He blinked and the landscape changed entirely. The sky turned dull, a mixture of grey and blue, wind shooing away any and all clouds that had been there previously. The land turned into a black beaten up track and when Ronan touched it, he recognized wet asphalt under his fingers. It reminded him of the race track near his home, slightly dusty, warm, almost urging him to get into his car and race. Yet his car was nowhere to be seen.

 

There was something wrong with the race track though. If a race track usually ended with some grassland or whatever, this one just ended into nothing. There was asphalt there one second, and nothing, just air, the other. It was if his dreams had carried him to a race track on a mountain. Ronan walked to the end and stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at whatever lay there. To his surprise, he could not see land - or a body of water - anywhere. A lonely cloud drifted by about a hundred feet down, but other than that, the cliff led to nothing.

 

"Look what Morphine brought in," a familiar voice shouted from behind him. Ronan didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.

 

"Morpheus," He corrected, slowly turning around and leaving the cliff behind, walking towards the other boy. The distance between them was considerable, but it seemed that his dream had turned the mountain into an island that floated on its own.

 

Kavinsky smirked, one foot up in the air, the other firmly down on the edge of the cliff. He looked at whatever lay below, then looked at Ronan and his smirk widened. Perhaps the other edge had something one could fall into. Ronan didn't risk it. He had lost Kavinsky once, he was not going to lose him again. He hated Kavinsky, hated him with every fibre of his body, yet he could not afford to see Kavinsky die again. He had started walking towards Kavinsky, but his stride turned into a jog in seconds as he saw Kavinsky rocking back and forth over the edge.

 

"You know, it's good to see you again," Kavinsky said when Ronan got close enough to see his face. "It hasn't been too long, but you know, I have something to tell you." He stopped Ronan with a wave of his hand and then pulled something out from the back pocket of his jeans. It was sleek and felt heavy in his hand, yet Kavinsky raised it to his head as if it weighed nothing. Even though Ronan had not held a gun, he knew what one looked like and he froze, eyeing the cold death in Kavinsky's hand.

 

"Did you know that if you aim your temple," Kavinsky said, pushing his sunglasses up and pressed the barrel against the right side of his face, shivering with anticipation. "It's actually hard to end it all. If you get nervous or fuck up, aim it wrong, you might not blow your brains out. Nah, you'll just end up with ugly scars and no working nerve endings below your neck." He licked his lips and laughed, shaking his head. "Could you imagine it? Knowing you wanted to end it all, but you can't even move your hand to grab a pill and overdose?"

 

He pulled the gun from his head and then tutted when Ronan moved a bit. "Nu-ugh, no you don't," Kavinsky aimed the gun at Ronan for a second, then snorted and rolled his eyes when Ronan started figuring out the odds of Kavinsky shooting him.

 

"Relax, Lynch, I'm not going to kill you. After all, I'm just a part of your dream."

 

It made him awfully gleeful that it had been Ronan who brought him into his dreams. Ronan could hear it from his voice.

 

"Anyway," Kavinsky turned his attention to the gun, looking at it as if he had never truly understood how guns worked. "The easiest way to make sure you'll die is to put this baby into your mouth, aim it at your beautiful brain and then pull," he cocked the gun and put the barrel into his mouth, locking his eyes with Ronan. For a second Ronan expected him to pull the trigger, but then Kavinsky pulled the gun out of his mouth, smirking when both of them could see the saliva shining on the cold metal. "Gotta put it between your teeth. Just like you'd suck a dick. There's not too much different between a dick and a gun. Both of them are hard in your mouth, both of them go off. One just brings life, and the other, the other, Lynch, brings death."

 

He sighed, his smirk sliding off his face like a shadow, exposing the broken boy underneath. Ronan wanted to go to him, wanted to tell him that it'd be alright. That one day it would be better and that one day Kavinsky would feel like life was worth living. Before he could move, Kavinsky stepped onto the edge of the cliff.

 

"You can't choose how you're born, but you can choose how you die. Remember that, Ronan." Kavinsky smiled, then put the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

 

Ronan's scream was almost as loud as the gunshot.

 

Kavinsky fell, fell off the edge of the cliff and into nothingness. Ronan expected to see him fall down, but when he got to the edge as well, he could see that a lonely cloud had caught the blood and Kavinsky. The boy was floating, head resting on a bloody pillow, gun still in his hand, a blissful expression on his face. Ronan had never seen him smile this widely or this serene. It was as if all of his dreams had come true.

 

Ronan tried his hardest to bring Kavinsky back to life. He begged for his brain to take it back, to make his dreams better - he begged the dream to bring Kavinsky back, begged the dream to change and for Kavinsky to laugh at Ronan for believing his prank. No matter how much he begged, how much he cursed or how much he cried, Kavinsky still floated on the cloud, his blood spreading and making the cloud look more like a red sponge.

 

Ronan's sobs were what woke him. He was panting and his whole body felt gross and sweaty. When he touched his face, his skin was wet from tears His eyes burned with unshed tears when he closed them and he covered his eyes with his palms, trying to calm down. It had been a dream, he assured himself, it wasn't real. Just a figment of his imagination.

 

The smell of gunpowder, blood and wet asphalt still lingered in his nose.

 

His phone let him know it was around three in the morning. It was too early to get up, but after what he had just seen, Ronan didn't feel like getting any more sleep. He pushed himself up and went to the bathroom. The warm water washed off the sweat and any traces of Kavinsky he had pulled from his dream, calming his muscles and offering some comfort. It had just been a dream. Kavinsky was dead and Ronan hadn't saved him.

 

Ronan left the shower after all the warm water had ran out. He changed into another pair of sweats and then climbed under the blanket, hoping that maybe he could doze off. Instead of the sweet embrace of sleep, he found something made of plastic in his bed. Ronan pulled out a pair of white sunglasses and looked at them. They were exactly like the ones Kavinsky had always worn.

 

He threw the sunglasses across the room and pushed off the bed again. He was not going to get any sleep that night.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan's dreams take him to a party he most definitely did not go.

The next time Ronan dreamt of Kavinsky, there was so much going on in the dream that it was hard to understand what he had seen before and what was new. It was a party, that much he could be sure of because he was sitting on a couch and the floor around the couch was littered with empty bottles and cigarette filters. The music was loud, but not too much, filling Ronan's body with electronica and bass.

"You must miss me a lot," someone whispered into his ear and laughed when Ronan flinched. He didn't have to turn to know it was Kavinsky again. It was like Kavinsky's presence could be felt everywhere anyway. He was in the littered beer bottles, in the cigarettes and in the leather couch under Ronan's body.

Ronan didn't answer with his words, but he did not need to. Kavinsky crawled onto his lap and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into a kiss. The kiss was bruising, rushed, exhilarating, exactly like Ronan imagined kissing Kavinsky was like. It was as if the dreams knew what Ronan wanted and fed his brain the images he had longed for. 

Kavinsky was solid and warm on his lap and his lips were cracked, but hot and wet. He felt real as he kissed and bit Ronan's lip. His arms around Ronan's neck were solid and his ass felt real enough under Ronan's hands. When Ronan squeezed it, Kavinsky laughed and pulled away.

"Poor Lynch. Too afraid to ask for things he wants, so he imagines them." Kavinsky reached to the side and pulled a handful of pills out from a bag. He popped a few into his own mouth and then tried to coax Ronan's mouth open. "Cmon, Lynch, it's nothing bad. It's your dream, isn't it. You wouldn't dream up something lethal."

Slowly Ronan opened his mouth, still not fully certain of the pills. He let Kavinsky place one onto his tongue and then swallowed. Nothing happened so he let Kavinsky feed him another two pills. The pills didn't have any taste, but after a few minutes made him feel more relaxed. Kavinsky felt more at ease as well and he leaned against Ronan, almost nuzzling his lap as he eyed a handful of pills, blue and yellow ones mixed together.

He downed them in one go and then smiled, tracing circles onto Ronan's cheek. "Proko always loved he blue pills and the yellow ones. He thought that they would turn into green ones in his stomach." Kavinsky chuckled, producing a blue pill out of thin air. "How cute, isn't it? That two things come together to make something more beautiful."

Ronan nodded slowly and let Kavinsky place the pill into his mouth, licking the pads of Kavinsky's fingers before sucking a finger in his mouth. Kavinsky hummed, stroking Ronan's short hair and kissed his temple.

"You should've seen his face when I gave him a green pill." Kavinsky spoke, letting Ronan suck his finger. "All wide eyed, he was. "Green is my favouritest colour, K, how did you know?" Kept saying it over and over and over again, thanking me for that stupid little pill."

He produced a green pill and tossed it into his own mouth, swallowing it easily. 

"Green's supposed to be the colour of life," Kavinsky said, pulling his finger out of Ronan's mouth and wiped it clean on Ronan's shirt. He sighed, laying down over Ronan's lap and guided Ronan's hand into his hair. Ronan gently touched it and then played with the strands, sometimes tugging on them, sometimes gently stroking them. It was as if all the pills had made him more docile and loving. 

Kavinsky sighed, closing his eyes. "After a while he complained of not feeling so good. He claimed his whole body was heating up." Kavinsky's own cheeks flushed as if he, too, was feeling too warm. "You should've seen him, Ronan," he said with a little smile. "I've never seen anyone take their shirt off so quickly. And before you ask, yes, he really was burning up."

Ronan slid Kavinsky's shirt up a bit to touch him. The skin under his palm was warm, nearly unbearably hot. When he moved his hand up, letting it rest on Kavinsky's chest, he could feel Kavinsky's heartbeat speed up.

"Don't worry, Lynch, it's not because of you," Kavinsky assured him, not opening his eyes, but his breathing got more laboured. "It's the green pill mixed with other yellow and blue pills. It was the same with Prokopenko, but god, did he cry." He crossed his arms behind his head and hummed. "Kept crying how weird it was and how his heart was going crazy. He thought he was going to die and he begged me to help him: "K please, please help me, I'm dying, I'm dying!" I mean, he wasn't wrong," Kavinsky opened one of his eyes and looked at Ronan who was still touching him.

"I'm going to die, Ronan, and I'm going to die in your arms."

Ronan frowned and shook his head, to which Kavinsky answered with a short laugh. "I am, I am! You can feel my heartbeat going crazy. It's going to speed up so much that I'm going to have a heart attack. Trust me, it's going to end in my death. It killed Proko, it'll kill me too."

He was calm, too calm, in Ronan's opinion. Kavinsky kept smiling, looking up at him and his heart beat faster and faster under Ronan's hand. Ronan tried to will his brain to conjure something that would stop it, some pills that would calm Kavinsky's body or that would soothe it. Instead, he just found himself staring into Kavinsky's eyes. For a few seconds, he could almost see the scene of Prokopenko dying and Kavinsky being the one to hold him. Then Kavinsky grabbed onto his wrist, eyes widening as the heart attack rushed through his body. His hand was sweaty and Ronan wanted to assure him it'd be alright, that people had heart attacks every day and lived through them.

Before he could say anything, the firm hold around his wrist loosened and a sigh of death rolled over Kavinsky's lips. His death had been quick, yet unexpected and Ronan leaned closer for one last kiss, which he had never gotten while being awake. As soon as his lips touched Kavinsky's, someone's voice dragged him from his dreams, almost ripped him from his fantasies and woke him.

Gansey's cheerful alarm rang through the room and told him it was time to get up and go to school. There was no time to fantasize about kissing Joseph Kavinsky, or relive his death. Ronan knew he could dream a hundred of him. He also knew that he would never take Kavinsky from his dreams, would never drag him back to the living world where Kavinsky had never belonged to in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams from the rooftops* I am still relevant!!!


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving, driving, driving. It's bound to bring back memories.

The third time Ronan dreamt of Kavinsky, they were both in Ronan's BMW. Ronan's hands were on the wheel and Kavinsky's were in his own lap. Kavinsky was sucking a lolly, something Ronan had never seen him do in real life. When Kavinsky noticed Ronan looking at him, he smirked, pulling the lolly out of his mouth.

 

"Wishing it was Dick in here instead of me, hm?" He winked and then looked at the road. Ronan turned to look as well. The road was clear of any cars and the asphalt shone slightly under the lights that reflected back from the wet road. It must've rained earlier; Ronan rolled the window down and the cool wind that brushed his cheeks confirmed that it had carried little rain droplets down a few minutes earlier.

 

Kavinsky reached over, touching Ronan's face where the wind had just caressed his skin. His touch was more careful than it had ever been in real life.

 

"Does Parrish touch you like this?" Kavinsky asked in a soft voice, leaning over to whisper into Ronan's ear. "Does he watch you drive?"

 

He sighed, breathing some air into Ronan's ear, brushing Ronan's lips with his thumb. Ronan didn't take his eyes off of the road, but he opened his mouth slightly, letting Kavinsky fondle his lips.

 

"Do you dream of him too, Ronan?" Kavinsky's words were like a song, melodic yet sharp, each word carrying a meaning, lulling Ronan's conciousness, shaking it awake at the same time. "Do you dream of Adam?"

 

Ronan didn't answer. He dreamt about a lot of things. He dreamt of destruction and blood, of dark creatures that ripped apart everything they touched. He dreamt of fast cars and faster hands, fumbling to open his pants and to shove them off; dreamt of bodies riding bodies faster than his BWM or Kavinsky's Mitsubishi could ever ride the streets. He dreamt of seeing Gansey get on his knees in front of his king; dreamt of Gansey achieving everything he had wanted, yet failing, falling through the air as everything crumbled to pieces around him.

 

Rarely he dreamt of strong, freckled arms around his waist, a warm hand taking his hand and soft, chapped lips kissing the back of his hand, nearly feeling the breath of air against his skin; dreamt of wide smiles and chaste kisses; dreamt of Adam. Those were the good dreams.

 

Adam would never want him. How would anyone so pure as Adam want someone as tainted as Ronan; Adam had the world for him to take and Ronan was not a part of that world. He was tainted, wicked, a sinful creature who dreamt of people who were long dead. That was why Kavinsky was here; reminding Ronan of how vile and wrong he was.

 

"It could've been us," Kavinsky whispered, mouthing the side of Ronan's jaw. "You and me against the world, Lynch. Just us." He left a burning kiss onto Ronan's skin and then pulled away, sitting back onto the passenger seat.

 

"Just us... But maybe this is better," he wondered, opening the glove department to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Parrish can never get you here, can he? He doesn't understand you like I do."

 

Kavinsky lit his cigarette and inhaled, looking out of the window. They drove in silence, Ronan's eyes on the road ahead, Kavinsky's on the side of the road.

 

"You miss me,"

 

Ronan didn't answer.

 

"You miss me, Lynch. You miss the danger, you miss what you couldn't get." Kavinsky rolled his window down to chuck his still-lit cigarette out of the window. "Fuck, you miss the fights we had and how we-"

 

"I don't miss you," Ronan nearly spat the last word out of his mouth like it was poisonous. "I never wanted anything to do with you."

 

Kavinsky laughed, shaking his head and he grabbed Ronan's shirt, making Ronan look at him. "Yeah? Then why am I here? Why aren't you letting me be dead?"

 

"I never wanted you dead!" Ronan shouted at him, pulling his hand back and punched Kavinsky in the face. The satisfaction from feeling bone crack under his knuckles was almost instant and increased as blood coloured his hand red; the colour of passion and rage, everything that coursed through Ronan. Kavinsky smirked, wiping away his blood, but before Ronan could return to driving, leaned into a kiss.

 

If hitting Kavinsky had felt like being intoxicated, kissing him felt like floating on the edge between dread and euphoria. It was wet from the blood and from tears that materialized into Ronan's eyes and tore themselves from his lashes, sliding down his face, embracing the red life that dripped from Kavinsky's nose, covering both of them in streaks of various shades of red. Their lips ran over each other in sync, their breaths a soft hum in the backround; Ronan's hands shaking as he withdrew them from the wheel and placed them onto Kavinsky's shoulders.

 

When they pulled away, Kavinsky shook his head, looking almost sad.

 

"Should've let me die, Lynch. I'm not saying I don't like making a guest appearance in your dreams, but you're seriously fucked up, aren't you?"

 

Ronan turned to look at the road, half surprised that the car was still on the lane, half knowing that everything was possible in his dreams. He knew he was fucked up, he had never denied it anyway. If only he could have more control over his dreams, maybe then he could dream less of Kavinsky and more about other things.

 

"It's not like I want to dream of you," He finally said, doing his best not to look at Kavinsky. Kavinsky snorted, but sighed soon, apparently content with that answer. They continued driving in silence; however, Ronan spoke up when he realised he didn't even know where they were going.

 

"K?" He asked, reaching over to nudge the other boy slightly. "Where the fuck is this road taking us?"

 

Kavinsky thought for a while and shrugged, "Fuck if I know. It's not my dream, is it?" He played with his lighter, clicking it open and shoving it closed, making little flames burst from it, then smothering them with a snap. He ran his finger over the dragon that had been engraved on the side and even though Ronan only glanced at it, he knew it was the same dragon that had blew out the light of Kavinsky's candle of life.

 

They were both silent for a while. Then Kavinsky spoke.

 

"Ronan?" His voice was soft, almost scared.

 

Ronan still looked at the road, frowning slightly as the sky darkened. "What?"

 

Kavinsky climbed onto Ronan's lap, not caring about how the car could drive out of the lane and the road, how it could hit another car or a tree or - "Don't forget about me, okay?" He kissed Ronan's cheek and then his forehead, cupping Ronan's face with his surprisingly gentle hands.

 

"..."

 

"Ronan?" Kavinsky leaned closer, his eyes slipping closed, mouth slightly open, inviting Ronan to close the gap between them. As they drove by a street light, Ronan noticed how vulnerable and gaunt Kavinsky looked - pale skin, prominent cheekbones, a few lost freckles on his nose, thin, nearly colourless lips. It was as if all the colour in him was being washed out by the air around them.

 

"Hm?" Ronan touched one of the freckles on Kavinsky's nose, wondering if it would disappear under his finger if he caressed it. Instead of testing his theory, he closed his eyes and imagined a live, breathing, laughing Kavinsky on his lap.

 

"Wake up," Kavinsky whispered, pressing one last kiss against Ronan's lips. Ronan closed his eyes, moving his lips against Kavinsky's, opening his mouth, ready to taste him, ready to devour him.

 

When he opened his eyes, he was in his bed. His room was dark, but the street light behind his window illuminated his room a bit. Nothing had changed; except for something on his blanket that gleamed and reflected the soft light. When Ronan touched it, it was cold to the touch, but quickly the metal heated up in his palm. Ronan traced the dragon engraved on the lighter and opened the cap, flicking the light on and off, on and off, trying to replay his dream in his mind.

 

Gansey found Ronan in the kitchen, leaning out of the window, a cigarette in his hand, the smoke curling upwards and disappearing into the air.

 

"I thought you didn't smoke," Gansey said, but his tone was more worried than scolding. Ronan just shrugged, shaking some ash into the windowsill, not taking a drag from his cigarette.

 

"Ronan?" Gansey took a step closer, almost reaching out for his best friend.

 

Ronan shook some more ash onto the ground. "Go to sleep, Gansey." He was tired, so tired; he felt like he would drop onto the ground like the ash if someone shook him like a cigarette. He didn't have the energy to argue with Gansey.

 

Gansey nodded, still glancing at Ronan worriedly, but left the kitchen, going back to sleep.

 

As the smoke curled in the chilly morning air, Ronan thought he could see it contort into the image of Kavinsky's lips, mouthing the words 'wake up' over and over again. He took a drag of the cigarette, imagining that the sour taste didn't come from the fag but from Kavinsky's mouth. Somehow the thought made him feel better.

 

After he had finished smoking, he played with the lighter, making it produce a little flame, snapping it closed, then open and closed again, his mind repeating Kavinsky's wish to him.

 

"I won't," Ronan mumbled, snapping the lighter close for one last time. "I won't forget about you."


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinder dreams aren't only meant for kinder people.

His dreams were kinder to him now. He did not dream of fast cars or death, did not dream of guns or violence. He did not dream of strange creatures running after him, killing everyone and everything they could get their claws onto. He did not dream of dead kings or dead lovers or dead friends, did not dream of death at all. Instead he dreamt of counting freckles and holding hands, walking through magical fields and magical forests, riding animals who had been extinct for years, listening to relaxing music and laying down.

 

He dreamt of Adam a lot these days, dreamt of building a future with him, of having a home and children; someone to come home to, someone to call his. He dreamt of Adam surprising him with homemade meals in the evenings and with coffee in the mornings, dreamt of Adam surprising him with kisses no matter what time it was. He dreamt of Adam being there and every dream that had Adam instantly turned into a nice dream.

 

It had been months since he had seen Kavinsky in his dreams. He had nearly forgotten about the boy with shadows for eyes and claws for hands, yet the boy who was barely more than a ghost did not want to be forgotten.

 

"What's up, Lynch?" A voice interrupted Ronan just as he was about to pick the first flowers of the summer from the field of his dreams. "What the fuck are you doing? Picking flowers? How gay."

 

Not looking up from the seafoam green flowers, Ronan said, "Hello, K. It's been a while."

 

"Almost six months, yeah," Kavinsky hopped off the hill, picked a flower as well and held it to his nose to smell it. "Smells gay." He threw the flower away and Ronan saw it drift out from his sight. Kavinsky stayed.

 

They didn't speak, but soon Ronan felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

"You're happy, aint you?"

 

Ronan grunted as an answer, picking a few more flowers.

 

"Is he good to you?"

 

Ronan stopped, a small bouqette of flowers in his hand. He straightened up and looked at Kavinsky. Kavinsky was just the same as he had always been; pale skin with dark shadows permanently glued under his eyes. His hair was gelled back and sunglasses neatly sat on top of his head. He was wearing the same clothes he always wore in Ronan's dreams; the clothes he died in. And unlike Kavinsky, he was smiling.

 

"Your dream world, it's more colourful now," Kavinsky said, pointing to the flowers in Ronan's hand, then gestured all around them. Ronan hadn't noticed, and if he had, he hadn't paid too much attention to the garden they were in. Lush flowers, dozens and dozens of rose bushes, row after row of tulips, stretching out for as far as Ronan could see - his dreams had never been this lavish and beautiful and serene; or maybe they had been, maybe they had turned from dark and gritty to beautiful and calm bit by bit, one step at a time. It had taken time, but his dreamscape had transformed without him noticing it.

 

When he looked at Kavinsky again, it seemed that colour had spread into him as well. Instead of his white wifebeater, Kavinsky was wearing a red shirt with a logo of some band Ronan had only heard of. A bird flew by and dropped a flower crown onto Kavinsky's gelled hair and Kavinsky snorted. "Parrish really has a good influence on you, Lynch."

 

For what seemed to be the first time in Kavinsky's presence, Ronan smiled.

 

"Yeah, he does." He pulled a ribbon from under a rose bush and wrapped it around the flowers, finishing the little bouqette.

 

Kavinsky hummed, pulling out another ribbon and just weighing it in his hands. "You really love him, don't you?" He started tying the ribbon around his neck and it turned black in his hold.

 

"I do," Ronan watched Kavinsky play with the ribbon and then pulled it from his hands before Kavinsky could strangle himself, tying it around the flowers as well. The ribbon was still black, but it complimented the flowers and the other red ribbon so Ronan let it be as it was.

 

"You still think of me." It was a statement, not a question. Kavinsky was a part of Ronan's mind. He didn't need to guess when he knew everything about himself that Ronan felt or knew.

 

Ronan only glared, then took out a lighter from his pocket. The dragon on it gleamed under the sun and Kavinsky grinned.

 

"You've not forgotten me," Kavinsky's voice was full of glee and he chuckled, shaking his head as he took a step closer. He pressed his finger against Ronan's forehead and gently tapped his skin. "Without the past there is no future, but you can't hold onto the past like it's all you have."

 

Kavinsky's palms were full of pollen and he blew it into Ronan's face; the pollen turning into thousands of fireflies or bugs, them bumping into Ronan's face like delicate kisses or little fists. The bugs rattled him awake, pushed him away from his dreams and back into the world of the living and breathing.

 

He woke with a start, his body kicking awake. The flowers he had collected were nowhere to be seen, but the lighter he had shown Kavinsky was laying on the end table where he had left it the night before. Kavinsky was not in the room either, which made Ronan breathe calmer for a second. Then someone groaned behind his back and Ronan's heart beat faster again.

 

A strong arm wrapped around his middle and a cheek pressed against his back. Before Ronan could assure the owner of both of those body parts that all was fine, he spoke. "Bad dreams again?"

 

Ronan shrugged, turning around and facing a very sleepy Adam. "Not too bad. It's nothing."

 

He moved closer to Adam, throwing an arm over Adam's body as well. It was warm and cozy and he didn't want to get up even if he wasn't sleepy any more. Besides, why would he ever leave the bed if said bed had Adam Parrish in it?

 

"What time is it?" Adam asked, his eyes still shut, a small smile on his lips. Ronan checked the time from a clock on the wall and leaned closer to whisper into Adam's right ear. "It's like nine."

 

Adam hummed as an answer and then wrapped his arms more tightly around Ronan. "Do you have to go for a cigarette?" he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against Ronan's nose and Ronan smiled.

 

"No. I don't think I'll need one."

 

He looked over his shoulder at the lighter on the end table. Sure, without the past there would be no future, but that did not mean he had to cling onto the past as hard as possible. Sometimes it was better to let things go.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [wylanwaneck](http://www.wylanwaneck.tumblr.com)


End file.
